


der schwimmer.

by fodlanepics



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Multi, Post-Time Skip, Pre-Time Skip, ashe/linhardt is such a rarepair but it's my rarepair, but im sort of proud., felix/bernadetta bt like... in the bg, linhardt's pov, listen idk where i was going for like. half of this., the ideal would b an ot3 of them and i'd tag it like that but there's only a brief mention of it so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 10:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20581238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fodlanepics/pseuds/fodlanepics
Summary: And it's easier to float when you have something to hang onto.--Linhardt's spent the entirety of his life floating wherever the wind takes him. Caspar tells Linhardt to believe in something that'll make him stop. And five years later, when they stand on opposing sides of the battlefield, Linhadt's finally found it.





	der schwimmer.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written a fanfic in god knows how long (it's been a few years), but I've been seeing so much Felix/Sylvain opposing side angst and I thought Caspar and Linhardt were lacking the same. Also I wrote this as I was listening to Hadestown so there's some influence of that peppered throughout.

His whole life has consisted of floating. That’s the best way he can possibly describe it.

His childhood has been one that hasn’t been particularly significant - but the most he can pinpoint as unforgettable is spending time with big, bright teal eyes and bird-chasing screams that he’d find annoying in literally  _ everyone else _ to exist. It’s an odd comfort, but one that wouldn’t be expected for Linhardt. But Caspar is everything that Linhardt is supposed to hold a distaste towards, yet he’s the closest he has to home.

He’s what makes the academy feel like home. Granted, Linhardt’s feelings on it are neutral. He has his personal gains, such as ease of access to important information correlating to his research, but there are also drawbacks, such as strict schedules and expectations that Linhardt  _ really _ doesn’t feel like living up to. So he’s floated through that like anything else, and it’s easier to float when you have something to hang onto. He’s fine if life continues to be like this, if nothing changes.

But then Edelgard is suddenly the Flame Emperor and leading a conquest on the entirety of Fódlan. And that’s a  _ huge _ change.

“So what happens after this?”

Caspar’s voice breaks the stagnant silence, tension throughout the academy thick enough to cut like a knife. And then sleepy, indigo hues meet that of electric teal, and Linhardt takes a breath with a noncommittal shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” A yawn. “We’ll have to see what happens when we get there.” 

One would believe his statement to be some sort of sacrilege with the way Caspar’s eyes seem to widen, and suddenly Linhardt wonders if he’s grown a second head out of the blue. Not a word is spoken until the latter has to ask, “...Yes?”

“You don’t  _ know _ ?” 

“No, I don’t.”

A sharp inhale, Caspar’s hands on his hips as he stares at the ground. And then, he looks back up at Linhardt. “I’ve been thinking,” his tone is serious - uncommon for Caspar, but not unheard of, meaning the forest-haired scholar listens intently, “when I graduate, I’m gonna join the army. And we can protect each other - ‘n look out for each other. A-And I don’t like this either, but,” he looks up, “I’d feel  _ way _ better if you were at my side when we go to war.”

It’s a loving statement, yes. One that further cements the bond between the two boys they’ve had for over a decade. And Linhardt is sure that Caspar has a love for him that he reciprocates - but it’s one thing to state that you want to protect someone. It’s another thing to practically demand them to march alongside you on a battlefield that you believe you have no business being on.

And despite the fact that this is  _ Caspar _ , who is probably one of the most important people in his life, Linhardt doesn’t want to be with him in a future tainted by bloodshed. No, he’d rather they run off away from the madness of the incoming and stay together, protecting each other but saving their own skin from the horrors of war.

So Linhardt states, “I can’t do that, Caspar.” And yes, it’s obvious that a statement like that is hurtful.

“Lin… What do you  _ mean _ you can’t do that?”

“I mean exactly what I say - I can’t do that.” 

His lips are pulled tautly as he closes his book, folding the page on its corner and standing. And now  _ Linhardt _ , an individual who has never been particularly serious and somber, much preferring the quiet bliss of his own freedom, casts a sincere but solemn look towards his childhood friend. “I can’t throw myself in battle; you  _ know _ how much I hate it. And I’m not going to do something I don’t want to do for someone that I don’t understand.”

“You mean Edelgard?”

“Yes, I mean Edelgard.” He can feel his mouth turning dry as there’s a welling feeling of guilt pooling in his chest and stomach. It’s almost like he’s going to be sick. “I think she’s doing what she wants to do in entirely unnecessary ways - she isn’t even considering the idea of diplomacy, or discussion, or law. No, she’s going to war. And I’m not about to kill for her when I think she’s not doing anyone any good by… this.”

It’s a nod that the other gives, and his own face, normally filled with a passion and a fire - well, it looks that fire’s been put out. Snuffed out, like the lives of the thieves Linhardt killed, their faces still burned in his brain. Yes, he still thinks about them. And Caspar crosses his arms and shakes his head, “It’s more than  _ just Edelgard _ , Lin.” That’s a point. “It’s about the people of Fódlan and how they’re being treated and manipulated by the Church. How they just have to - comply and - and just  _ float _ along with whatever they say and not question it-”

“Like me, you mean.” Linhardt’s voice cuts through in interruption, eyes focusing on the ground instead of meeting Caspar’s; no, that would hurt too much. And Caspar swallows hardly instead of responding on impulse like normal, but Linhardt  _ knows _ that’s what he’s thinking.

Silence once again settles throughout the room for a few painstaking seconds that feel like centuries, until that voice - once loud, now quiet - breaks in again. “I didn’t mean like that.” Liar. “But my  _ point is _ , if you think Edelgard’s starting this war just to start a war - you’re wrong and you need to  _ accept that _ you’re wrong. This isn’t about her - it’s about the people.”

Seconds of thought tick by as Linhardt feels his grip upon his book grow tighter. His nails dig into the leather as he thinks about the potential costs of battle - how the people of the empire are probably going to be drafted to fight, how towns and cities will become battlegrounds and ghost towns. How innocent people may lose their lives when they weren’t meant for such chaos, and how good people that Linhardt knows - their fingers will be stained with blood they were never meant to touch to begin with.

“It stops being about the people when you’re willing to sacrifice those people’s lives for whatever goal you want to achieve.”

“It’s about whatever you believe you need to fight for,” Caspar counters after his own few seconds of consideration. “Linhardt… you need to find something to  _ believe _ in. Something that’ll make you want to do things you don’t want to do because you  _ believe  _ in it - you believe that it’s right.” And with hurt in his voice and a sadness in his eyes, Caspar turns away and reluctantly chides, “That’s what I’m doing.”

And he leaves Linhardt by himself, left with only an empty library of dust and books. A small whisper - “I hope you’re happy, Caspar.” Now that he’s chosen this.

He pulls his lips tightly together again and thinks back on the previous statement.  _ Find something to believe in _ . He has his own beliefs, but apparently they’re not accepted - at least, in the way he refers to them. When Linhardt  _ says _ he wants to sleep the day away at his own leisure, he means that he wants the freedom and peace to do what he wants  _ when _ he wants with his own time. And… that means sleeping. But indignance of others and disapproval is all he gets, and he’s viewed as someone that only values his laziness. And it’s more than that.

But now he’s thinking. Thinking of how he could possibly push himself to fight for what he believes in when he doesn’t believe in fighting to begin with. But with war on the horizon, it seems that there’s no way anyone else could come out uninvolved, unscathed. It’s  _ inevitable _ his life will change, and there’s more than he needs to do besides simply floating with it.

Since if he  _ floats _ with it… he’s going to end up doing something he doesn’t want to do, and for reasons besides the ones he actually puts stock in.

Impulse decisions are more of Caspar’s thing; Linhardt’s more of a thinker, a planner, even if those plans consist of lounging about and seeing what comes in the future. But now he leaves his books and his notes, marching through the academy until he finds himself in the empty Blue Lions classroom - which, in terms of students, has significantly grown.

It’s as much to the point where throughout the school year, the Black Eagles have found their numbers slowly dwindling - now even more so, considering earlier this morning, Ferdinand (in his own personal anger towards their house leader) announced he was switching classes. Dorothea and Bernadetta did the same prior, only that was over a span of a few months ago. It only  _ makes sense _ nowadays, considering none of the Black Eagles have been close to begin with (the exception being Edelgard and Hubert, and also Linhardt himself with Caspar.)

_ Find something to believe in _ , that’s what echoes through his brain when he sees Professor Byleth shifting through their class notes. That professor’s something else, he remembers calling them strange. But strange things are unusual, and strange things make people  **believe** .

So he steps forward, politely asking, “Professor, may I have a moment?”

\- - -

In the next five years, his life consists of nouns without adjectives. That’s the best way he can describe it.

Naps have turned less peaceful and have simply become naps. Immense research has turned less immense and has simply become research. His favorite foods have lost their taste and appeal and he’s found himself smiling less and less because every month is a brand new battle, and the days between them are the days that are preparing for battle and nothing more. The skills he’s gained are irreplaceable, but it’s saddening that he’s learned them thanks to mustering up the courage to kill.

He guesses that’s what war does to a person; aligning with the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus was a bold decision he gained disapproval from his father over. But it’s not a decision he regrets; he’d rather go down fighting unwittingly for something he believes will benefit him rather than to make another person happy. And the professor’s disappearance only had him doubting that decision slightly - but once again, they pull off the impossible by returning as quickly as they vanished.

Yes, it took five years - five years in which he’s watched the world turn upside down. 

But in the professor returning, at least, he’s found himself slowly crawling from that stage of floating with the kingdom army, being suspended out of fear to at least finding stability in a group to stick with. The class reunion, thankfully, put him in the same division as Bernadetta, Ferdinand, and Dorothea - along with allies he never really talked to during his academy years, but still is learning to form bonds with.

But those of them originating from the Black Eagles… there’s an unspoken pact among them to stick together. Dorothea is almost like the caretaker of the three, and Ferdinand her assistant. Linhardt and Bernadetta are constantly checked up on by either of the two, and they’ve been making habits to share meals with one another often - or even, themselves and the allies they’ve made in the army. Linhardt’s getting along especially well with the late Lord Lonato’s adoptive son; it came up in a conversation once or twice that he was a good friend of Caspar’s in the academy, but nothing more, since it’s no secret that Linhardt thinks of Caspar often.

Now, despite the loss of Rodrigue, it’s at least a slow upward climb. First the professor comes back - unaware and unchanged, still  _ them _ . And then they take the bridge along the way to Gronder field, and Lorenz Hellman Gloucester is a casualty in the process, but they can’t focus on what was lost. Gronder field itself is a three-way battle and they do make it out alive, yes, and Dimitri snaps out of his feral state - but they lose Rodrigue. That’s why it’s an uphill climb, but still a slow one. And now they’ve chosen to celebrate their win at Derdriu with a mock ball (like the same five years ago), and also, it’s a goodbye party since the Alliance leader is planning to depart in the morning. Those who survived in his army dine and dance with that of the Kingdom’s - and the whole time, Linhardt wishes a loud voice & strong hand stood at his side.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

Once again is a listless gaze of sapphire broken from its trance as Ashe sits next to Linhardt, a smile written on his soft features. And Linhardt nods. “Mostly.” He takes a deep breath as he sits back, mustering the same smile of peace. “Never been much of a dancer - but I almost felt bad that I considered resting instead of…” He motions his hand towards the sea of smiles surrounding him, making eye contact with a pair of grey eyes across the room.

Bernadetta’s wrapped in the embrace of the next Duke Fraldarius, and Linhardt’s a little proud that she’s taken the steps to be more comfortable outside of her safe space. She’s dancing and smiling and  _ enjoying herself _ and it’s great that she’s not hanging onto the friends she left behind like he is. 

Ashe must catch that Linhardt’s staring, and he must interpret it as some sort of envy, because he quickly wraps his hand around the mage’s. “Dance with me.” He insists, but although his phrase comes off like a demand, he doesn’t do anything to tug or force Linhardt into standing with him.

“What?”

“Come on, it’ll be fun.”

The smile’s one that Linhardt questions Caspar had even the resilience to argue. And he isn’t the same as Caspar; doesn’t have the same hotheadedness and want to fight everything in his path. So he stands and agrees, allowing Ashe to guide him and take his hand towards the dancefloor. 

It’s been… a while since he’s danced, to say the least. If he’s even done it, that is, because he can’t remember. But his right hand remains in the archer’s, and his left is placed on his shoulder, Ashe’s own free hand gently resting on his waist so he can guide him. 

“I hope you don’t mind me leading,” he politely chides, freckled cheeks tinted with a faint shade of pink. “I just- I’m not sure how long it’s been since-”

“It’s been a  _ very _ long time.” Linhardt confirms, but he’s learning to move along with Ashe well. And he meets eyes with Bernadetta once again, the tiny magenta-haired woman peeking over Felix’s shoulder with a grin. A nervous grin, Bernadett’s trademark, but still a grin.

Ashe nods. “It’s been a long time for me, too. ...Lord Lonato taught me how to dance in the event that he’d host a ball or something - I never guessed that he would, but it’s a nice skill to know.” And he smiles himself, even wider than before. “You’re doing great, by the way.”

A deep breath as he nods, blowing a small pine lock out of his face - and there’s a genuine smile. “Thank you.” Though it’s laced with a melancholy one can’t help but pick up on.

A pause as Ashe allows the music to play a bit more before he speaks again. “You know… Caspar used to say the best things about you.”

And that’s what snaps Linhardt’s attention back.

“He used to say you were  _ so _ smart, and the best friend he ever had. And I think that’s what made me really want to get to know you - since Caspar maybe wasn’t someone who I got along with EXTREMELY well,” but he says that with a chuckle, looking on the times they butt heads fondly apparently, “but he’s a good person who knew good people.”

Linhardt tilts his head. “And you think I’m good people?”

“Oh, I know it.” Ashe offers an affirmative nod, and he steps back slightly and twirls his finger - trying to encourage Linhardt to try spinning. And it’s a reluctant spin, but he does it, and where he almost trips, he falls directly into Ashe’s arms. Secure, and safe.

“You’re so  _ light _ . And for someone who hasn’t danced for a while,” the ashen (ironically) haired male’s tongue presses into the inside of his cheek, as if he’s trying to figure out what to say, “you dance like… you’re  _ floating _ . It’s nice.” 

Eyes widen.

“Floating?”

Before Ashe can clarify, a gentle hand taps upon Linhardt’s shoulder, and he turns to meet the minty gaze of his professor. Byleth tilts their head slightly, extending a hand. “Do you think I could have a dance?”

And the Blue Lions’ archer is more than eager to comply, stepping back and allowing Byleth’s hands to slip into Linhardt’s, leading him along much like Ashe did before.

“I have to admit, I never took you for the dancing type, Professor.”

Byleth offers a small shrug. “Normally I’m not.” And as always, their expression is unwavering, a bit more stoic than anyone else Linhardt’s met. But like anyone else, he’s gotten used to it. There’s a world inside of those green eyes, and labyrinth of thoughts and emotions he only wishes to uncover. To pick apart. Maybe that’s part of the reason he’s stayed.

So Linhardt nods. “You’re fine for someone who normally isn’t.”

The professor’s lips pull into a rare smile. “Thanks.” And they let the next few moments of silence sit, eyes peering around the room with Linhardt’s focused on their features - and also hoping to maintain the proper footing. The next question, however, catches him off-guard.

“So Linhardt.”

“Yes?”

“Why did you originally join my class in the first place?”

And he thinks back to that conversation that took place beforehand, and how exactly it impacted his future - because frankly, Linhardt’s unsure if he’d even be here if Caspar never opened his goddess-damned mouth. 

Was it to prove a point? Or was it because Linhardt was clinging to anything that remotely would unsure he’d stay away from bloodshed he didn’t believe in? Or was it because -

“Someone told me, a long time ago, that if I was doing something I didn’t want to do - at least do it because I believed in something enough to.” Which is true.

Byleth’s eyebrows slightly raise as Linhardt follows that statement up with, “And you give me something to believe in, Professor. ...Thank you.” 

Because the professor is someone who’s shown multiple people that there’s something else besides unnecessary bloodshed, and that miracles - as unfathomable as they may seem - can happen. And that despite how sometimes it may seem that there’s no way out of any dark hole one enters, sometimes, there can be a change that turns everything around, spinning on its heels into another direction.

Linhardt believes that if he believes in the professor, whatever side they may stand on, he can get his wish. And he can crawl back to the place he used to call his home to pull back the person he called his home - and together, it can be a better future, one where he can choose whether or not he wants to nap the day away or spend his time elsewhere.

Byleth doesn’t move much save for the dancing, but in their typical stoic  _ Byleth _ way, Linhardt can tell they’re touched. So they offer a nod. “...You’re very welcome, Linhardt.”

The night goes by like a gentle breeze, and Linhardt’s actually found himself having  _ fun _ as he reflects on the night, walking back to his dorm from the reception hall. And as he walks past Bernadetta’s door, the light on the inside indicating that she’s tucked in for the night, he can hear the lightness of her voice mixed with the rasped softness of Felix’s. And it’s babble he can’t make out until he hears his own name.

“I don’t know if Linhardt’s going to take that news well.”

He stops dead in his tracks, looking towards the door.

“He won’t be able to  _ avoid _ it, Bern. You can’t just  _ not tell him _ -”

“I-I know! I…”

Linhardt finds himself stepping closer to the door; eavesdropping is a bit rude, but it’s not something he can keep himself from doing since the conversation’s  _ about him _ and it’s more importantly about information Bernadetta thinks is worth keeping from him. For now.

“The professor said we’re going  **directly** to Fort Merceus after this. And if he’s stationed there and Linhardt sees him and Linhardt finds out you  _ knew _ he was there and didn’t tell him? He’s going to get fucking pissed.”

“I just don’t want him to get- get nervous or shaken up because Caspar was his  _ best friend _ -”

“If you don’t tell him, he won’t have time to prepare. It’s something you need to work up the courage for - we’ve all had to do it. We’re all fucking killing our friends.”

And that’s when Linhardt steps back, not caring if his footsteps are audible as he makes his way back towards his dorm. Because now he knows.

He’ll be facing Caspar at the next battle. And they can’t leave any survivors on the next battle - too dangerous. 

But… Linhardt, despite never being one to act on impulse, or as a risk-taker, can try his best to survive danger.

He sends for Ashe the next day, before the upcoming war meeting. 

\- - -

This moment - perhaps what he feels to be one of the most important of his life - consists of his heart beating through his chest, sounding like the war drums he’s head pounding on Adrestian holidays and ceremonies.

He’s doing anything  _ but  _ floating - volunteering to go on the front lines, all in an effort to get to Caspar before nobody else can. Ashe is right beside him, following him as they begin to cut through enemies coming for them - and yes, Linhardt’s primarily a healer instead of a fighter, and he prefers to defend himself from a distance when needed, but there’s a time when one needs to do what has to be done to achieve their goal.

He’s just looking for those eyes. Those big, sky blue, electric eyes that have their own thunderclaps when they decide who their next target is. And that loud voice that despite its brashness and uncouth, it’s the closest thing Linhardt has to home at this point.

_ I’m coming _ . The mantra is echoing through his head on repeat, like it’s the only thing rushing through his head as the army pushes in through Merceus.  _ Wait for me, I’m coming. Wait, I’m coming with you. _

Because Caspar is here somewhere, and Linhardt is certain that they’re exiting this place together. It’s a risky plan, but he’s talked it over with the archer and they’ve made a plan to try and make it happen. 

_ Wait for me. I’m coming _ .

And then he finds him.

Standing in burgundy armor, direction soldiers to an opening in which Dimitri’s soldiers begin to spill through, and Linhardt makes no effort in wasting time as he darts towards that area. Ashe follows, reigning in his steed and making sure to stick behind.

“Caspar!”

And then he turns. He turns, and Linhardt feels himself falling apart all over again as he meets  _ those eyes _ , the ones he hasn’t seen since five years ago as Garreg Mach fell. And his heart, the drumming against his chest, quickens like it isn’t beating fast enough already.

It’s one of those moments where it almost feels as if time stops. The world’s suddenly halted its turning, and the throes of chaos and battle slow down, the gears that move war halting and becoming frozen. 

Yet in this moment, him as well as Caspar are the only two people on the planet, the only two people that are remaining moving as the rest of the world can only seize. And Linhardt wishes that in a kinder world, in a better scenario - a moment like this could last timelessly.

Caspar’s face, it doesn’t reflect anger when he sees the other. Instead there’s shock - and a smile almost crawls upon Caspar’s face until Linhardt can pinpoint the exact moment where he remembers where he is, and it falls. Because as far as Caspar’s concerned, he can’t let Linhardt make it out alive.

“...Linhardt. Hi.”

“Hi, Caspar.”

And where one shouldn’t stand still, they stand still, staring at each other in knowing melancholy before Caspar lifts his axe.

“I thought you told me you weren’t going to end up on the battlefield. That you couldn’t fight for something.” His tone is defeated and saddened - almost like he was counting on the idea that the mage wouldn’t even step foot on a battlefield let alone be on the opposing side. But yet, there’s something that almost hints like he knew this day would come, as much as he didn’t want it to.

Linhardt inhales deeply, a small, sad smile coming across his lips. “A while back you told me to find something I can believe in - something to believe in that would make me want to fight. And… And I’ve found that.”

Caspar takes a step forward, almost smiling himself. “Really? What’s that?”

Linhardt can't reply before he insists, "Caspar, come  _ home _ with me."

"What?"

"Caspar, please. Come back with me.  _ Please." _

"L-Linhardt, I-" And suddenly, his eyes widen. "LINHARDT!" 

He feels his own form pushed out of the way as an Imperial soldier's cutting gale hits Caspar's middle.

And he doubles over, falling to the ground and breathing heavily as Linhardt crouches next to him, cradling his form in seconds, muttering faith spells to keep him alive although he’ll probably be knocked unconscious.

An arrow shoots into the skull of the enemy mage, Ashe dismounting from his horse and standing beside the two.

“I’ll tell the professor you’re retreating!” Ashe calls to Linhardt amidst the battle cries, clanging blades, ignitions of spells. And a forest-haired head nods, Linhardt pulling himself and Caspar’s form upon Ashe’s steed as they head for the way in which they’ve entered the fort.

_ Just wait for me. Please. _ He tells to the unconscious warrior between his arms.  _ I’m coming. Wait for me _ .

\- - -

His whole life for the past few days has consisted of him worrying. Losing sleep, anxiety forcing him to focus on one thing - and that’s healing Caspar back to his full health. As expected, it’s taken him a while to wake from the way he was knocked out during battle, but Linhardt’s begun to worry if he made a mistake - if there’s something  _ wrong _ , and he’s responsible for his best friend now in this state.

But as he’s running another healing spell over Caspar’s sleeping form, he hears a sudden snore-cough hybrid and an inhale.

“...Linhardt?”

He’s awake. Confused, but awake.

Linhardt’s face gives a soft smile but falls back to its dazed neutrality as he continues to heal. And he nods. “The one and only.”

No effort to sit up, no effort to get a better look at where he is - but the way his eyes shift around quickly, Linhardt can deduce he’s recognized his own dorm in the academy. The infirmary, well, it was too crowded with the wounded soldiers. And Caspar’s dorm is more personable of a space.

“How did I get here?”

“I took you when you fell. And instead of letting you die among a bunch of Empire soldiers and the Death Knight, I decided I’d take you with me.” A shrug. “...Any objections?”

It stays quiet - no, Caspar stays quiet. Proves that he’s capable of doing so, since others have believed it’s not possible throughout the years. 

“...Why would you do that?” He asks softly, now sitting up straight and furrowing his brow. 

Linhardt pauses for a few seconds, allowing himself to fully soak in Caspar’s living form. It’s almost like this moment is unreal - like it’s a dream, since the idea of peace with someone who’s supposed to be your enemy can only be a dream. And yes, maybe he’s found that dream through shadier means, but it’s still real. Caspar is here. Caspar is real. Caspar is home. 

“Because I care about you.” He simply replies, stopping his motions and allowing his hands to sit into his lap. “Because I didn’t want you to die. And I know what would happen if you stayed.”

And perhaps Caspar knows, too, because there’s no protest. Instead, there’s a nod in understanding as he runs his fingers over a bandage around his chest. His eyes settle on Linhardt seconds later, and he notes, “...You look good. You don’t have the...” He motions towards the back of his own head. “...you don’t have the ponytail anymore.”

“It’s in a bun.”

“But I like the bun.”

Linhardt chuckles quietly to himself, putting away his bandages and healing staff for now. “I like the haircut. Glad you grew it out a bit.” And he smiles, moving to instead sit on the edge of Caspar’s bed instead of a chair beside it.

Without another word, the man of von Bergliez allows his fingers to carefully run and play through the long pine locks in front of him, almost as if to check and make sure that Linhardt exists, and this isn’t some dream he’s having while he’s knocked out on the stone of Merceus. But he’s real and he can touch him and Linhardt remembers that Caspar is real and he’s  _ here _ and for a small spot of time, everything is okay.

“...You saved me.”

“I saved you.”

“And I’m okay.”

“And you’re okay.”

“...That’s awesome.”

The way the sun fills the room through the window of the adjacent wall, Linhardt takes it in kindly. He’s left Caspar’s door wide open for that reason. And in Caspar’s vision, with the sunlight shining on Linhardt’s back, it’s like a halo surrounding an angel. A sleepy angel, of course, but still an angel.

His hand falls from Linhardt’s hair to his hand, tightly curling around his knuckles.

“What… did you say that you believed in?” He asks softly, now realizing Linhardt never finished his statement before knocking him out.

And Linhardt takes a breath as he adjusts himself, now positioning himself to lay alongside Caspar on the bed. His fingers are still intertwined with the others as he looks off into the distance, head resting on Caspar’s shoulder as both recline back.

“I didn’t tell you, for starters.” He begins. “But I started to believe in… a nice, peaceful world. And the two of us.” He swallows thickly before continues, “A world in which the two of us can set off, doing whatever we want, whether that’s sleeping or,” he yawns, “adventuring around… doing goddess knows what.” He says it’s just the two of them, but he ponders asking Ashe if he wants to come along, as well.

And Caspar nods, allowing his own head to drape on Linhardt’s shoulder. “Like… almost floating?”

“...”

“I’d be okay with floating.”

And Linhardt finds himself nodding with a small smile, satisfied. Because it doesn’t hurt to float once in a while, and go wherever the wind takes you.

“When does that start?”

“When the war’s over, I guess.”

“...Can it start now?”

Indigo hues meet that of teal, and Linhardt finally registers that things are okay. That soon, everything will be over and done for - no more war, no more pain, enough time in the world to just… rest.

“Sure. It can start now.”

“...Awesome. ...And we’re okay.” 

Linhardt presses a small kiss to Caspar’s forehead as he feels himself drifting off. A sleepy voice replies, “Yes, we’re okay.”

The next day, Linhardt brings Caspar to share a meal with him in the mess hall. And the two of them, Ashe, Bernadetta, Felix, Dorothea, and Ferdinand - they all dine together. Because they’re okay. 

**“ der schwimmer = the floater. ”**


End file.
